Do you know what happens to naughty girls?
by those-cheekbones
Summary: Irene suspects Molly has an idea of what happened to Sherlock, and she'll use all her skills to find out the truth. Rated M for smut.
1. Chapter 1

Molly wasn't sure why this woman was in her morgue and found herself too speechless to ask. She stood in front of the doors, tall and thin, with her black hair twisted into an elegant knot at the back of her head. Her grey eyes, lined with black, stared at Molly, and her blood-red lips were twisted into a smirk. "Well," she said softly. "Miss Hooper, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"I—I'm sorry?" Molly stuttered. In her trousers and white lab coat she felt self-conscious and drab as she looked at this woman and the way her sleek black pencil skirt hugged her long legs and her white blouse offered the smallest hint of skin at her throat. As she walked in closer Molly noticed her pumps were as blood-red as her lips. "Who are you?"

"A friend of Sherlock's," the woman said, her eyes watching closely for Molly's reaction. She did her best not to let her face change. "Your name," Molly said. "That's what I was asking."

"Technically I've been here before," the woman said as if Molly hadn't clarified, letting her gaze wander around the cold, steel room. "I'm sure you can take a page out of his book and deduce it yourself." Those eyes came back to her and Molly felt herself flush under the look, letting her own eyes drop further down the woman's blouse.

Then, suddenly, she flushed deeper and tore her eyes away completely. "You're that woman," she said. "A—Adler." She remembered that day in the morgue all too well: the way Sherlock had asked to see the body itself, how his eyes, carefully blank, had run over the exposed, death-white skin of the corpse on the table from her throat all the way to her toes. That's how he had identified her, by her naked body, except it hadn't really been her.

A dainty white hand came into her vision expectantly. "Irene Adler, dearie," the woman said. "As I said, a pleasure."

Molly was mortified but manners told her to grasp the hand and give it a shake. Irene's skin was cool and dry, her grip light and ladylike, and Molly let go as soon as she could. "Pleasure," Molly whispered.

The scent of Irene's perfume receded slightly, her heels clicking. Molly raised her head again and hoped that the red in her cheeks wasn't so noticeable, but found herself examining Irene in a way she hadn't before. What was it that Sherlock had liked about this woman that he hadn't seen in Molly? She was taller and thinner, her skin whiter, and she was beautiful, no question about it; was it her physical appearance or her sense of dress? Or was it the way she exuded confidence? Molly had admittedly never been good at confidence. "Is there something I can do for you, Miss Adler?" she said finally.

"You helped him disappear, didn't you?" Irene said.

It took all of Molly's willpower not to look away again as her heart rate rose slightly. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "Disappear?"

"Oh yes, dearie." Irene walked slowly around her, her grey eyes raking over her as though examining an opponent, or a sculpture. Molly swallowed and resisted the urge to turn her head as Irene disappeared behind her. "We both know he's not dead, even if poor John believes it and mopes about in his flat all day."

"What—"

"You're not a good liar, Miss Hooper." Then, suddenly, Irene's lips were at Molly's ear and she breathed "How did you do it?" in a hot whisper against her. A shiver ran down Molly's back as she felt a tendril of Irene's hair brush her neck. "I didn't—"

"Come now, Miss Hooper, we both know you're lying to me." Irene circled around in front of her and although Molly felt like this was an interrogation an amused smile still tugged at Irene's red lips. "Lying is a very naughty thing to do."

Molly could feel the blush creeping back into her cheeks and she dropped her head slightly to avert her eyes. Almost immediately Irene's delicate fingers took her chin in a surprisingly strong grip and forced her to look back up. The dominatrix's face was an inch away from hers. Molly could see every eyelash, every fleck in her eyes, could even see the trace of moistness the lipstick had left on Irene's lips, and she found herself strangely breathless. "Do you know," those red lips whispered, "what happens to naughty girls?"

Molly practically gulped. "What?"

Irene moved closer, her lips tantalizingly close, and Molly found herself tipping her face up slightly as if to meet them. Then The Woman pulled back and released Molly's chin, a coy smile playing on that mouth. "They get punished, darling," she said, and then she walked away, her blood-red heels clicking on the floor as she left the morgue. And as Molly gasped in a breath, she had to wonder if she would like that punishment, and if—and when—it would come.


	2. Chapter 2

You guys! Thanks for the awesome reviews! :D This is my first Sherlock fanfic so it's been great over the last few days to get those in my email. It's been a looong time since I wrote fanfiction and I have to say that I'm loving this.

Also, this may be the smuttiest thing I've ever written in my life, soo the rating has gone up to M. I don't know why anyone would have a problem with Molly enjoying herself in the tub, but, you know, beware.

* * *

><p>Chapter Two<p>

Molly sat on the couch in her flat, her thin legs crossed under her and her fingers wrapped around a hot mug of tea. Her laptop was open on the couch beside her and she was staring at the website open to her. She had searched for "Irene Adler" on the internet and had come up with a number of news articles about political scandals, as well as John Watson's blog entry about the case he and Sherlock had worked on. She seemed to have simply disappeared from the map after that case, and Molly could find nothing else about her.

She had found Irene's professional website, however, and this was what she stared at. It was all black backgrounds with pictures of corsets and riding crops and stiletto heels, with a hint of blood-red in a number of places. Molly knew people did such things for sexual enjoyment, but she had never cared to look into it too much. This, however – this mesmerised her. She was interested despite herself and she scrolled through the website, clicking various links and examining the pictures. They must have been Irene, the skin was so white and smooth— Then she would catch herself thinking like that and blush. That could be anyone, it could even be someone else entirely and be edited to look like her. All the same, Molly found her mind wandering. She thought back to the way Irene looked and imagined her in the leather corset she saw there, with the blood-red pumps and a riding crop in hand—

Her face flamed and she quickly closed the laptop, getting up and dumping her tea in the sink before going into the bathroom and running the tap to fill the bathtub. She determinedly avoided thinking about Irene as she undressed and slipped into the tub, the smell of lavender filling the bathroom even though all she wanted to smell was Irene's husky perfume. "Stop it," she said out loud to herself, and dunked her head under the water to wet her hair. She surfaced again to gasp in a breath and then rested her head back against the tile and let her eyes drift closed.

Even though the image from the laptop was gone she could still hear Irene's voice in her ear: "They get punished, darling." It sent a shiver down her spine just thinking about it. She imagined Irene's white throat and collarbone exposed by the corset, the shape of her waist and her exposed thighs above thigh-high stockings. Holding that riding crop and wearing that smirk on her lips. _Would I like that?_ Molly wondered, beginning to squirm slightly, the water lapping at the edges of the tub. What did it feel like to know someone else is in control of you? What did the riding crop feel like as it struck against skin, what kind of sound did it make?

_Would I like that?_

She drew in a long breath as she let her hand slide down her stomach under the water. She rested her knees against the sides of the tub and let herself imagine for a moment that the warmth brushing over her breasts was Irene's hands, that instead of lavender she smelled her perfume, and that the sound of the water around her was Irene's breathy murmurings.

_Were her hands smooth or calloused? What would it feel like to have those red nails scratch my skin?_

Molly's hips rose almost out of the water as she gasped.

_What would she do with that riding crop?_

She bit her lip hard, her back arching and her breasts and ribs being exposed to the cool air outside the water and making her shudder. One small gasp escaped her, almost a name, and then her back stiffened. "Irene," she moaned.

Then her phone rang.

She almost screamed she was so startled, yanking her hand away from between her legs and sitting straight up in the bath and not even noticing the water splashing over the edge. Her face flushed bright red and she could feel herself trembling as her phone, left on the bathroom counter, continued to sing its jaunty tune, completely unaware of what it had just disturbed. Finally it quieted, leaving the bathroom silent other than the sound of the water.

She sank back into the bathwater as she tried to catch her breath, but the warm water reminded her too much of what she had just been doing. She climbed out and pulled the plug, still quivering as she wrapped herself in a towel and picked up her phone. There was a voicemail from an unknown number. Still breathing too quickly, she punched in the password and turned on the speakerphone so she wouldn't get it wet in her hair, then closed her eyes as she tried to calm down. The mechanical voice of her voicemail echoed into her bathroom:

"You have one new message. Message one." Then, a new voice:

"Well, dearie, when is it that you're going to call me?"

Molly dropped the phone like it had burned her, her eyes flying open to stare at it. Her heart leaped in her chest.

"I did tell you you'd need some punishment… Be sure to get in contact with me so I can fulfill that promise." The phone clicked and then the mechanical voice reported, "End of message. To repeat message, press…"

Molly let it play through, the voice echoing around the bathroom, before she finally knelt and picked it up again. She felt too warm in the steamy bathroom and opened the door to step out into the main room of the flat, the cool air kissing her skin. She hung the phone up and put it down on the kitchen counter before going to her bed to finish what she'd started in the bath.

An hour later, she picked up the phone and dialled the number on the website.


	3. Chapter 3

Here my lovelies! I'm so sorry this took me so long, school's been absolutely killing me the last few weeks. I'm almost past the busy spot now though, so I'll be able to keep updating more regularly. You'll just have to stick it out with me another two weeks. ;)

* * *

><p>Irene sat alone at a table in a small café, looking out at the rain lashing the windows. The coffee in front of her gave off small curls of steam where it sat next to her phone, which had been dark for a while now. She was waiting for Molly. The girl had called her back almost immediately the other afternoon, and insisted on a public meeting place. A small smirk came to Irene's face thinking about their conversation. A public meeting place, as if Irene would do something to her.<p>

She checked the slim silver watch on her wrist and gave a small sigh before sipping her coffee, her lipstick leaving the faintest mark on the white porcelain. When the door opened her eyes flicked up to look. It was finally Molly, her long coat spattered with moisture and her hair a tangled mess. The umbrella she held at her side was clearly broken. Irene tilted her head slightly as she watched her try to smooth her hair before glancing around the café and then coming towards the table.

"You're late," Irene said as Molly opened her mouth to speak. The younger woman blushed, dropping her eyes again. "It's raining," she said.

"Yes, I can see that," Irene answered. "Have some trouble with your umbrella?"

"It's an awful thing anyway," she muttered, sitting across from her. "I just need to throw it out." Irene watched as she fiddled, putting her umbrella and purse under the table, taking off her wet coat, trying again to smooth her hair, all the while not looking at her. "Nervous about something, dear?" Irene said, motioning to the waiter to bring another cup of coffee.

"What? No," Molly said quickly, looking up at her. "Just—um—" She cleared her throat. "How are you?"

Irene smirked. "Quite well," she said. "I am curious as to why you wanted to meet me here, though."

"You—you said to call you—"

"Oh no, that's not what I said," she answered, leaning forward, her eyes bright. "And you know very well that's not what I meant, either."

Molly blushed again. Irene loved the way it lit up the apples of her cheeks and the way she looked down to hide it, her tangled hair falling over her shoulders again. She leaned forward and pushed a lock behind Molly's ear, revealing the small pearl stud she wore in the lobe; Molly jumped a little at the touch. "You called me because you wanted to call me," she said softly. "Because there is a part of you that wants what I have to offer."

"You don't know me," Molly said.

"No, but I can guess," Irene said. She leaned back in her chair as the waiter brought coffee for the bedraggled Molly, who gratefully wrapped her hands around the cup. "I get many calls from people who are curious."

"And how many of those people do you chase after?"

"Chase?" Irene repeated, and then she laughed. "I chase no one."

"But—"

"I provided a gentle reminder, that's all," she said. "And you called me, didn't you?"

"Well—yes—"

"And you're here, aren't you?"

"Please stop interrupting me," Molly said, her cheeks red again.

"You know, you do look lovely with that flush in your cheeks," Irene said, her eyes wicked. Molly raised a hand to press her fingers to her warm cheek. "You blush so easily." She couldn't help but imagine what kind of rose might bloom there from her open palm.

"What do you want?" Molly blurted. "Why me?"

Irene arched an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair and lifting her coffee cup. "You know why," she said. "I want to know about _him_."

"And I've told you, I know nothing," Molly said stubbornly.

"And we both know you're lying, and so we're at a stalemate," Irene said. "Unless you're willing to give up that information for a price?"

"I don't want money," Molly said.

"Then what do you want?" Irene casually rubbed her foot up Molly's calf. The girl jumped, her eyes wide as she tucked her feet hurriedly under her chair. "I can pay you in things other than money."

"I—I—"

"Find your tongue, girl," Irene said. "Or I'll find it for you."

"I found your website," Molly blurted, then dropped her head as if in guilt. A grin spread across Irene's face. "Did you now?" she cooed. "And what did you think of it, dear?"

"It's—um—" She swallowed. "People actually pay you for that?"

"Oh yes," Irene said, sipping her coffee. "And I think they enjoy it almost as much as I do. You really ought to give it a try." When Molly hesitated, Irene's grin grew and she leaned forward again, that wicked look back in her eye. "Is that you considering it?"

"No," Molly practically squeaked, quickly ducking her head and sipping her coffee.

"Then what was it?" Molly dared a look up at her again, her lips parted, but she couldn't seem to make any words come out. Irene smiled. "It's perfectly fine to be curious," she said. "If you'd like, you can come back to my flat with me. I'll show you what kinds of toys are my favourite." Her eyes gleamed and Molly hesitated again. "No promises," Irene said. "You won't have to do anything if you don't want to. But I know you want to look. Girls like you are always the ones who want to know."

"Girls like me?" Molly repeated.

"Pretty girls who blush often and can't keep eye contact. You've the soul of a submissive, dearie." She smiled. "But that's not a bad thing."

Molly had to admit, there was something in the way Irene said it that made her want to see these things even more. She gulped slightly, fidgeting with her sleeve cuff, and finally she said, "If I come—I don't have to promise anything?"

Irene's grin grew, her white teeth hinting behind the red lipstick. "Nothing, darling," she promised. "All you have to do is look." She finished her coffee and stood, putting some money down on the table before tucking her phone into her clutch and looking expectantly at Molly. "Well?"

Molly hesitated only a second more before collecting her wet purse and broken umbrella and following Irene out of the café and into the waiting car, her heart beating so hard that it might as well have deafened her. _No promises_, she reminded herself, but then the words _do you know what happens to naughty girls?_ echoed in her mind, and she shivered as the car door closed behind her.


End file.
